


Raiment of The Gods

by randomcelt



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Multi, Sharing Clothes, srsly everything but the kitchen sink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcelt/pseuds/randomcelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the clothes make the man ... or the god. But sometimes, they do the most for his friends.</p><p>(Or, a tale of all the times someone else wore Thor's clothes and the adventures necessitating such a development.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raiment of The Gods

i.

Jane let out a ear-splitting yawn and rubbed at her eyes. Her forest of notebooks, print-outs, and coffee mugs still bearing the ghosts of their contents was looking wilder and wilder. As am I, the astrophysicist thought ruefully. She couldn't remember how many days it had been since she'd tried to scrub the exhaustion out of her face or even run a load of laundry. If it wasn't for Darcy stealth feeding her and Thor dragging her away to crash occasionally, she probably would have collapsed into her research and never been found. 

Speak of the woman...

Darcy herself rounded the doorway with a snarky comment that was lost on Jane's pre-occupied ears. After the unthinkable fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, seas of data had flooded the internet. If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, Jane was drowning. Just a few mores pages. That's what she'd been telling herself for the last ... who knew how many hours. If she was perfectly honest with herself, it was just far easier than actually facing the downfall of Agent Coulson's men in black. 

'Jane!' 

Her head snapped up. Darcy sighed, her lips tugging down.

'This is Bad. Like, Pray to Odin for a Miracle Bad. You need to get a grip on your life and start acting like a semi-sane human being,' Darcy finished, giving her boss a look that was calculated to make small children and fluffy rabbits cry -- or at least sniffle. 

Jane looked down, playing with the frayed hem of her plaid shirt, days old and smelling of stale coffee. She stretched. The sun was slowly falling into skyscrapers all around them. The day would soon be done. 

'Maybe I should get some sleep,' the astrophysicist concluded. 

'Sleep?' her intern spluttered, 'We have to be at Stark Tower in half an hour!'

'What?' Jane's hands slammed down into her desk. The world spun. (Though that might have been the lack of sleep, food and even caffeine coming through.) 'When were you planning to tell me this?'

'I just did!' Darcy exploded. 'Don't you remember? Apparently they need to talk strategy now that the Men in Black are all shooting at each other, but Tony Stark turned it into a meet-n-greet. And for some reason, we're supposed to be there – and by us, I mean you.'  
Jane panicked. She's dreamed of meeting scientific legends like Tony Stark and Bruce Banner for a long time now, but not like this. Not dirty, greasy, and all but hungover with exhaustion. She already felt overwhelmed. Then something else clicked. 

'Where's Thor?'

Darcy rolled her eyes. 'Already there. Apparently he wanted to fly,' she began tugging Jane up, steering her away from the morass of her work station. 'He kissed you on the head and said something sweet. You didn't even look up, but you did mumble something about particle data. Thor took it as a blessing and launched his ridiculously good-looking butt from the window.'

Jane shook her head, racking her brains for any such occurrence. 'But--'

'That was three hours ago. Now let's get you looking half-way decent.'

'I have no clean clothes, Darcy,' Jane groaned, 'and we've already established that yours don't fit me.'

Darcy gave her a push in the direction of the bathroom. 'Go. Shower. I'll figure something out.'

Ten minutes later, when Jane was drying off, a pale arm flung itself through the doorway and lobbed several articles of clothing at her face. She recognized Darcy's belt and a pair of her intern's tights, but the creamy pool of fabric at her feet was unfamiliar. 

She scooped it up, calling, 'Darcy, what is this?' Whose is this? 

She could almost hear her intern's shrug. 'It's one of Thor's shirt-tunic things.'

'You raided Thor's closet?'

'What else was I supposed to do? Use the belt and you'll look like some kind of Greek goddess,' Darcy flippantly declared. 

The loosely woven cloth smelled like rain and summer sunlight. Just like him. Jane buried her face in it, wondering when she has grown so distracted. 

. . . 

Half an hour later, Thor greeted her with a kiss and a raised brow at her choice of attire. She just smiled sheepishly, muttering, 'Darcy's fault.'

He tucked her against his side, laughing deep and richly. The rumble echoed in her bones as they turned together to face his teammates. 

ii.  
Three arrows left. 

Clint went for a grim and mirthless laugh and let out a hysterical giggle. It had to be ninja robots. Not just robots. Not just ninjas. Ninja robots. 

'Barton...' Cap's exasperated voice sounded in his ear.

'...Did I say that out loud?' 

Maybe forty-eight hours was too long to go without sleep. If they could just finish up mopping up the mess left by the latest-wannabe mad scientist, Clint would be more than happy to crash anywhere available. Unfortunately, that was taking longer than intended. The things just wouldn't die. The only way to kill them seemed to be wrenching their heads off or stabbing their faces. That, and electrocuting them. Though Thor had a monopoly on that one. 

Though he had to question the utility of crafting deadly, glowing-eyed androids, programming them to exterminate humanity, and then bulking them down in layers of what could only be described as ninja costume, their laser guns, black knives, and grenades were wickedly affective. Hence the fact that the Avengers had been assembled to save Cleveland just hours after completing another mission. C'mon, it was Cleveland, for crying out loud! What kind of half-wit excuse for a villain would waste his time in the middle of Ohio? 

'Tasha! On your right!' He barked, rubbing at gritty eyes and watching with satisfaction as his partner downed the metal monstrosity that had been trying to pull a fast one on her. 

'Cap, behind you!' The star-spangled Avenger dispatched the android that had been creeping up on him with a muted cry. 

From his rooftop perch, all the other Avengers looked like tiny toys, dealing death as they danced through the swarms of their opponents. 

One arrow left. The archer cursed under his breath. At least the robo-ninjas hadn't seen who was raining down death from above. There seemed to be less than thirty of the things left now, and Iron Man's repulsors combined with the Hulk's brute power were slowly, but surely turning the tide. Maybe he could convince Cap to let them get shw--

A faint thrumming in the air was all the warning he got. 

Then they were all over him: three of the androids swarmed him at once, climbing on his arms, weighing down his legs, reaching for his head. He cried out as one stabbed him in the thigh. Cursing, Clint rammed his last arrow into the eye of the droid trying to choke him. It went down with a sizzle. They were tall but spindly under their trappings, and it was fairly easy to overpower them once you got the hang of it. 

Clint aimed a solid kick at the second and it went sailing over the roof's edge. If it didn't die -or whatever AI did – Hulk would probably make a plaything out of it. He got in the grim laugh this time as he set about checking his injured leg. At least the wound was cauterized. A smell of burning flesh mingled with the scent of smoke and thunder in the air. His hands stung, scraped and lacerated from the fray. As Clint took a moment to catch his breath, he wearily eyed the bruises blooming all over his arms. This would hurt in the mor-

A black blade stuck out of his side. 

The world spun lazily on its axis as he crashed to the concrete, cursing his exhaustion.  
Always watch for the last one, Natasha's voice rang in his ears. How careless could he be? 

Scrawny, iron arms bit into his back and he heard the dull whine of a plasma gun winding up. He swore again as blood ran everywhere. 

'Hawkeye! What's your status? Do you need assist?' The Cap barked in his ear. 

He tried to speak and choked on the blood in his mouth, coughing. 

'Barton! Respond!' Steve sounded panicked. He'd better do something. 

'I'm down,' Clint gasped, kicking at his assailant. His arms were caught fast behind him in its many limbs, but he managed to score a hit with his left boot. 

'Clint!' That was Tasha. 

He coughed again, and then the pain hit. Oceans and deserts and galaxies of white-hot fire crawled through his body. He jerked reflexively and the android fell from him with a whine. Clint rolled away, gasping and shuddering. He had no idea what the blade had hit or what was on it, but he was bleeding buckets and coughing up more. The concrete was stained crimson, specks of dust running sludgy in the dark tide. When he coughed, a mist of red hung in the air. 

It hurt so bad he could barely breathe. He sucked in shallow pants that tasted metallic as black spots swam in his vision. It felt as though his lungs were collapsing. The robo-ninja charged and he laughed again, this time with a sickening squelch. This was how the famous Hawkeye would go down: shot and/or stabbed to death by a wanna-be supervillian's robot ninja in the middle of north-eastern Ohio. 

Then a sheet of lightning split the wind. A whirl of red and silver spiraled above him and the all-consuming crack of thunder swallowed the sky. He curled in on his wounded side, feeling the blood slip through his fingers over the hurt on his thigh. His eyes squeezed closed. And right when Clint thought his brain would explode, the sound ceased and a long shadow fell over him. 

A scent of soldered metal hung in the quiet air. 

'Easy, Barton.' 

Large hands turned Clint over. The archer stuttered out a breath.

'I've got you.'

Thor unhinged his cloak from its shoulder-clasps and flung it over him, pressing the crimson cloth over his side. So much red, Clint thought, just like Nat's hair. In spite of all the blood on his hands, it was still his favorite color. Red reminded him of her. Her perfect eyes, her secret smile...

'Stay with me,' the Asgardian commanded, a frown settling over over his brows. 'Man of Iron, come quickly. Our comrade is hurt and the wound appears poisoned.' 

Clint would never, ever get used to the sight of a Norse god pressing his finger to the comm in his ear like a seasoned field agent. That should have gotten another mirthless laugh, but it hurt too much.  
A side wound shouldn't hurt like that, something in his head told him. But his tongue was lined with wool, and his teeth chattered too hard to get it out. He was so dang cold.  
'You're going into shock,' Thor told him, his voice deep and steady. The Asgardian curled his cloak tighter around Clint and that felt a little better. He felt his head come to rest against the golden god's chest. 

'You need to stay with me, Clint.' Thor kept his voice low and even as the archer drifted. He could feel a steady pressure against his side and a solid warmth on his back. The pain was dimming, too; he could breathe again. Everything was dimming. 

Thor was talking to him, calling his name, urging him to wake, but the cloak was so warm...

. . .

Clint didn't hear Stark land beside them in a shower of sparks. He didn't feel himself being lifted into Iron Man's arms. He didn't see Rogers' worried frown or smell Natasha's perfume when she leaned over him. He did get a death grip on Thor's cloak, though. 

Thus it was that Clint Barton awoke eleven hours later to eight stitches in his side, two sets of dressings on his body, five vigilant Avengers fast asleep around him, and one scarlet cloak tucked around him like a godly cocoon.

This time, the laugh was neither grim nor mirthless. 

 

iii.

'Rogers has clearly been reading too much Tolkien. Or watching-'

'Tony...'

'Though I assume reading, because, despite his quick assimilation into the twenty-first century, Cap's definitely a technophobe at heart. That and PTSD. Epic battle scenes, y'know. Traumatic memories. Flashbacks.'

'So there's absolutely nothing wrong with bringing a live, albeit unconscious, spider that just happens to be four-foot high, vicious, and highly venomous into my lab for me, the man with breathtaking anger issues, to study,' Bruce's voice edged into hysterical territory as it picked up speed and strength. 'Nope, nothing at all!' As an afterthought, he added, 'Rogers is a smart man, Tony, and he's been through a lot.' 

'Well, we need somewhere to put it. And this is my tower. Don't be difficult, Brucie,' Stark admonished. 'And since when is it your lab?' 

Bruce's mouth hung open in horror. 'You brought one into the Tower? Tony, that's recklessly endangering your friends and employees! What about Pepper? And – and,' he stammered, 'you gave it to me!' 

Tony shuffled slightly, the harsh lab lights picking out a tiny gleam of guilt in his eye. 

'...Well, the sooner you stop overreacting and see reason, the sooner Thor can bring the thing down here and stick it in the cage. It's only gonna stay unconscious for so long,' he recovered glibly. 

Taking Bruce's shocked silence as an affirmative, the inventor nodded briskly and breezed away to oversee preparations. The door slamming behind him sounded oddly like a death-knell.

A few minutes later, the scientist let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his nose. He checked the holding cage for what seemed like the millionth time. 

Just because the Hulk had been deemed too sledge-hammer-like to participate in the Avengers' latest shenanigans didn't mean Bruce felt left out. Honestly, the Enchantress (or whatever she was called) could leave her overgrown arachnoid monstrosities anywhere else, for all he cared. Thor had had the good grace to apologize for her vendetta a million times. They all told him to get over it, and at last he settled for looking like a rainy Monday morning and fighting like a man (god?) possessed. It was a strange combination, Bruce had to admit. 

But more strange was the sight of said Asgardian tramping out of the elevator with a huge, hairy, gangly spider in his arms and a bleeding gash over his eyebrow. 

...and a pair of extremely muddy boots. Bruce sighed internally. He was going to have to mop up all that goo, as well as practice his spider-sitting. 

'Thor! Take your boots off! Do want to track mud all over the lab?' Jane Foster's voice might have been a little shrill and hoarse, but it sounded like melted honey to him. Thor let out a repentant grunt and toed off the offending footwear by the door. At least only the entryway was muddy, Bruce thought. 

Thank Heaven for small mercies. 

Thor gave him a strange little half-bow and ducked out of the lab with a half-apologetic smile. Jane trailed after him, laying a hand on his broad shoulder. 

Behind Bruce, there sounded a noise that would have been a snort, had it been any more belligerent and any less diplomatic. As it was, Captain America settled for a resigned and disappointed sigh, the kind that made you feel like the world's biggest failure. Banner somehow knew that near-ire was directed elsewhere, and that made him fear for Stark and for the general peace of the Tower. 

If he was perfectly honest with himself (and he rarely was; it was just too painful), Bruce admired Rogers' control. 

'Dr. Banner, you comfortable with this?' Steve didn't waste any time with pleasantries, but the lines of his face were open and concerned. 

'Yeah, well... It's fine,' Bruce mumbled, shuffling toward the familiar safety of his workbench. 

As he sat down with a comforting bump, Rogers strode over to the holding cage and its comatose occupant. 

'Think this thing'll hold?' the soldier asked, tapping on the re-enforced bars experimentally. 

Bruce nodded distractedly. 'Tony ran some calculations and based on what he's seen, he thinks it's strong enough.'

'Right,' Rogers nodded, 'If you need any help, have JARVIS call me or Thor. If you'll excuse me, there's a heck of a lot of cleanup waiting.'

Bruce nodded again and Steve shot him an apologetic smile over his shoulder. The door hissed closed and silence descended. The physicist breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. As much as he enjoyed the company of his fellow Avengers and their honest acceptance and support, he was an introvert at heart. Quiet was his best friend. 

. . .  
In retrospect, he should've known that trusting his volatile self alone in a room with a giant, vicious, man-eating spider was a bad idea. But then again, his level of expertise was always given to a certain shade of arrogance. 

It happened like this. 

Bruce had just finished processing the first sets of data his scanners had collected on the spider and he was just starting to think about skin and blood samples. It didn't appear to be, as Tony had thought, an engorged version of a terrestrial spider. Bruce's best guess as to what it actually was –

Rustle. Clickity Click. 

SNAP! 

He froze, an icy trickle creeping down his neck. A dry shuffling noise sounded behind him as he glimpsed a nightmare reflection in his dormant laptop: the tangle of spindly legs heaved its twitching bulk through burst bars and raced toward him. 

Bruce didn't think. There was no time to become angry. He just heaved through the waves of his fear and did. 

The weapon nearest his grasp was made of finely tooled leather, caked in mud, and a lot heavier than it looked. Bruce didn't notice. It was a matter not of anger battling control, but of courage mastering fear. He just snatched Thor's boot and started walloping for all he was worth. 

The first swing bashed in the long forelegs reaching for him. The arachnid hissed in shock and faltered for a moment. Bruce didn't, getting in a solid thwack on the many-eyed head just above the dripping mandibles. This time it staggered toward him, clicking madly while green slime oozed from its eyes. 

The astrophysicist let out a peevish rattle and kicked his chair at the advancing monstrosity. As spinning wheels tangled with grappling legs, Bruce charged forward and brought down all his weight on its head. 

The arachnid convulsed for a few moments, then went mercifully still. 

When Iron Man and Captain America came tearing in, they found Bruce Banner standing over a pile of hairy and unresponsive legs, Thor's muddy and slime-enfolded boot clutched in his white knuckles. And Thor himself stood in the doorway, laughing as though his sadness had fallen away like snow in the spring. 

'That was well struck, Banner,' he announced, striding over clap the scientist on the back and retrieve his footwear. 'We'll make a warrior of you yet!' 

Steve let out another long-suffering sigh and fixed the flustering Stark with a Look. 'Tolkien knows more than you give him credit for, Tony.' 

 

iv.

Thor groaned through his teeth, straining against the weight of falling stone. Natasha screamed beneath him. When the rush of noise and motion left them in merciful silence, he felt as if the sky had shattered, leaving him trapped in darkness and rubble. The seconds slipped away as he fought for breath, holding up the weight of the world while its ruin echoed above him. When his ears stopped ringing and the dust began to fall, everything ached, but a dull fire burned his left leg. He tried to shift himself, but he could only raise his chest a few feet before a slab of masonry pinioned his back. A grey chink of light showed ahead, though. He supposed, in a vague sort of way, that they were lucky it was only a two-story store front that HYDRA's minions had brought down on them.  
'Thor?' Natasha croaked, squirming in his sheltering embrace.  
'Aye?' He answered, slithering off as best he could.  
'Did they just bring a building down on us?'  
'Aye.'  
'Stop saying that,' she groaned, 'I'm calling help.'  
As Natasha barked into her communicator, the one in his ear guttered and died. No help from that quarter, then. They were on their own until Stark's scanners picked them up – if any knew they were trapped.  
The assassin swore in Russian (presumably), and kicked a chunk of stone.  
'We're on our own.'  
'Aye.'  
'Thor, I'm warning you.'  
Rubbing dust out of his eyes, he bit back a chuckle. Somewhere along the way, his monosyllabic responses might have become a wee bit intentional. The grin dropped from his face as he tried to squirm toward the light.  
'What is it?' Her eyes glinted in the light, full of something he couldn't name.  
'My leg -' He broke off with a grunt, trying to square his shoulders, 'my leg is quite trapped.'  
'Thor? Why can't you get us out?' A razor edge skimmed her voice. What aren't you telling me?  
Thor felt for Mjolnr in the murk, sighing in relief when his fingers closed on the handle.  
'I can't free myself without crushing you,' Thor confessed, or frying you with lightning. Blasting his way out would almost certainly kill a mortal woman, whether by battering masonry or blistering lightning. Thor would never forgive himself--  
He felt her stiffen, saw her eyes widen. Something lurked between them in the dark, smelling of fear.  
Natasha was still all but unknown to him, despite their battle-bond. She held herself aloof in the moments of blood and sweat and exhaustion, when it was Valhalla just to lean against your shield-brothers and rest. Fathomless and cool as a winter sea, she had stood apart.  
But here in the dark, he felt her resolve crumbling and melting against him. His thought sprang to Sif, eyes blown wide and fingers running with blood, her breaths stuttering and her damp forehead pressed against his shoulder. He knew not what demons the assassin beside him had faced down in the crowding dark, but he could hear their footfalls in her breathing.  
'Natasha,' he began, 'you need to find the surface. Make your way out and I will follow.'  
She made a formless noise and scrabbled forward, her boots bracing on his arm. Soon she was outlined in a grey daylight glow, hanging between the dark and the outside, shoulders hitched at a nervous angle.  
'The street's crawling with soldiers,' she called down in a dead voice. 'I need your cover. I'm not bulletproof, Thor.' I can't do this.  
The Asgardian paused. Natasha was right. She would be exposed and vulnerable scrabbling free; he needed a way to protect her while he freed himself.  
To protect...  
He wriggled and scrambled until the releases on his shoulder pauldrons chinked open and his breastplate fell away. Next he loosened his vambraces, leaving them to slip from his forearms and clatter to the floor. The scales of his hauberk glinted as he pulled it over his head with a muffled groan and held it out to Natasha.  
'Wear this.'  
'What?' Her voice hit a flat note, like metal striking hard-packed earth.  
'None of your mortals weapons will breach its craftsmanship. The enchantments my mother laid on it will ward all harm from you.'  
'...Thor-'  
'The metal is strong but light, tempered by the smiths of Vanaheim. Live another day.  
He smiled for her, wondering if she could see it in the half-light. Natasha's jaw worked for a few moments, then she stretched out a hand and took the maille shirt, swimming through the steely folds until her head poked out the top and her hands found the sleeves. She would have looked a child when she straightened but for the blood painting her brow and the sweat like diamonds on her skin.  
'Wish me luck.' A puff of laughter escaped reddened lips.  
'By the three Norns, the seven Stars, and all the branches of the World Tree-'   
It was his turn to laugh, but his merriment foundered in a bitter hiss as his ribs cried out.  
She crouched for a moment, skylined between one world and the next. Then she was gone, dancing through the twilight. Thor let out a pained breath, slumping against a slab of concrete. He allowed himself to gasp and grimace in the dark, let the waves of pain crash over his unprotected body. But Natasha was shielded from further harm, and that was well.  
Now to free himself. Scrambling about for his vambraces, Thor checked when his hand came away dark and sticky. He stiffed at it. Sweat, grime – and the familiar scent of mortal blood, the smell of salt and copper. A pool of lead settled in his innards.  
Oh, you brave and wary fool. If only you had trusted me enough to tell me. He felt about desperately, but the light was gone, and plenty of his own blood had painted the floor. In the end, it seemed she had lost only a small amount of her blood, but then again, what did he know of mortal physiology?  
Thor rolled over and clasped Mjolnir's handle, spinning it as fast as he could. This was going to hurt, but he had faced worse. Lightning flashed down, splitting the sky. He soared to meet it, crying out in spite of clenched teeth.  
As he parted the storm, a tiny voice whispered, Loosen your jaw, you great oaf. You're going to bite your tongue off. It sounded too much like the brother he had left unburied and dishonored on a withered rock for comfort. Not that your powers of articulation would be any great loss, it continued. But Thor knew already what came next, and after that, and after that. Ah, brother, but then who would shout loud enough to frighten all your enemies away? A sad smile inched up his face. Oh hush, you great, gabbling fool; the trolls will hear us...  
Thor blew rain water from his nose and shook it roughly from his eyes. No-one would tell him the liquid was anything else.  
'Natasha,' he called into streets, 'Natasha!'  
As the clouds cleared, he saw that the square was empty save for the Widow and the Archer. She leaned on him and he bent over her, love written in every line of his body. It was well with her then, Thor thought. The weight in his belly eased at last, leaving a hollowness in its wake like the feeling one gets when one has gone so long without food that biting hunger is a thing of the distant past.  
Why did you not tell me? I would have helped you. What have I done but help you?  
He missed Jane.  
Thor dropped to a rooftop, still unseen, and cast a sweeping eye over the area. A sort of exhausted hush lay over the city, as if everyone and everything had simply sat down, too tired to move. The battle was over.  
Thor knew he must soon return to help with the cleanup and report to the Captain – he should make sure Natasha was alright, as well – but for the moment, he wanted only to slump against the icy concrete and watch the colorless sun go down. Somewhere out beyond that pale sky, Asgard shone like a  golden beacon, halls burning with the light of a thousand torches and a million stars. Home. Here, it was only a distant star.  
Thor could all but hear the songs, taste the mead, feel the fire-glow. Vulstagg would be launching into another raucous tale, Sif smiling her sharp smile, Loki curling by the hearth like a self-satisfied cat, Mother and Father casting the light of their happiness over the hall... Just then the longing for his homeland boiled up, sweet and sharp as incense. But Thor had given his word to watch and protect this realm, though eternity pass him by. He had chosen this world, and now it must suffice for a home. Pine and sigh all he might, that Asgard – his beautiful, bright Asgard – was gone forever now. There was no way back through the stars, not for him. His stuttering breath that sounded too much like a sob before he launched himself from the edge.  
. . .  
'Captain, the perimeter is secure. Stark and I believe all the soldiers of HYDRA are dead or captured by law-enforcement.'  
'Thanks, Thor,' Steve greeted him with a soot-smirched smile. 'We'll need to contact Hill about this break-out; there must be a mole on the inside...' His young face fell again, dragged down in worry.  
'Captain,' Thor began, fumbling for reassurances. But there were none, so he settled for a firm grip on Steve's shoulder and a smile full of all the strength he could muster.  
'Thor,' Steve said and stopped, but his eyes filled with renewed courage.  
'Is the Widow alright? I learned too late of her injury.'  
'Yeah,' Steve sighed, 'Nat's gonna be fine. Bruce is taking a look at her.'  
'Thanks,' Thor murmured, turning away.  
'And Thor?' Steve caught his at wrist. 'I heard what you did. Thank you for saving her. She might not trust you with her problems, but she trusts you with her life, and … and it'll get better.' We'll get better. We have to. The world is depending on us.  
. . .  
'Thor?'  
'Aye?'  
'I am. Warning. You.'  
The Asgardian turned from the punching bag (a most curious invention Steve had introduced him to, that, while presenting no real challenge, helped him work off excess energy). He wiped sweat from his face, mischief bubbling up inside.  
'Aye.'  
She let out a snarl. 'You asked for it!'  
And Thor found himself tackled to the floor by a hundred-fifty-odd pounds of red-headed assassin. He couldn't tell if Natasha was pulling her punches or not, but it seemed she was taking out everything she had on him. For himself, Thor wa tempering his strength, but even if he had not been, Natasha's speed and agility would have posed a serious threat. He hoped she wouldn't notice, but what didn't she? Maybe that was the reason she stooped to hair-pulling.  
The battle was fierce, raging for several minutes with no clear victor. At last, Asgardian and mortal slumped to the mat, breathing hard.  
'Well,' Thor panted, 'at least your threats do not lie idle.'  
Natasha smiled, fierce and sharp, reminding him again of Sif. She took a long drink from a water bottle that had appeared from somewhere and shoved damp hair from her face.  
Thor let out a contented sigh, stretching back against the mat. The cold lump in his bell was slowly seeping away. Natasha turned to face him, her face carefully casual.  
'Hey – I should have told you I was hurt back there. Steve says that soldiers trust each other- that that makes an army. I know Stark keeps saying we're not soldiers, but he'd be blind to see that we're not fighting a war against HYDRA.'  
Thor nodded, trying to find the right thing to say, but she wasn't finished.   
Natasha fixed him with an earnest gaze, her cool tone forgotten. 'I – well, sometimes I forget that you, all of you, actually have my back,' she smiled a little, 'I guess I've spent too long with the wrong people.  
Her fingers folded themselves together. She watched them fixedly while the real words hung unspoken between them. I'm sorry I can't trust you. I want to to, but I'm afraid.  
Her voice trickled down to a whisper. 'Forgive me?'  
In the deathly quiet of the empty floor, Thor laid a hesitant hand on her arm. 'I, too, have tasted the pain of betrayal,' he answered, the words sticking in his throat.  
Natasha looked up, hope rimming her eyes.  
It was his turn to smile, just a little. 'There is nothing to forgive.'

 

v.

It was brilliant. Simply brilliant, if he did say so himself. A smile tugged at his face. Tony resisted the urge to jump up and perform a manic victory dance for several reasons: one, he was fairly sure that Pepper had sweet-talked JARVIS into recording all such displays for future blackmail, and two, he'd been working on the repulsor for four-odd hours now and it hurt to move.   
Not that cramping muscles would stop him from spending another couple hours doing the exact same thing. If Tony Stark was going to be honest with himself – and he wasn't – this particular fit of tinkering was little more than a smokescreen thrown up against the downfall of Agent Coulson's men in black.   
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the footage again: three helicarriers heeling, guttering, sinking, Roger's bruised and bloodied shape, that metal arm. And where had Iron Man been? Staring at his screens in dazed, panic-fueled paralysis. In his secure lab in his impenetrable Tower. Tony knew the bitter rust of guilt - and right now? It was eating away at him like someplace very hot. That and the knowledge that it was now up to him and his corporation to keep the known world free and secure.   
But when Rogers had shown up at his Tower, exhausted and mumbling something about a destroyed apartment and needing to get his feet back under him, that guilt had goaded Tony into opening a shelter for stray superheroes.   
Though to be fair, it had been an accident.   
Really.   
When Barton crawled out of his elevator, covered in blood and South American mud, Tony should have known what he was getting into, because by the time Romanoff crashed on his helipad, overrode security and passed out on Rogers, it was too late. With Banner happily sequestered in a nearby lab, all they were missing was Thor. And within a week, the aforementioned demi-god had the grace to deposit his fully armored self on Tony's roof, complete with a frazzled astrophysicist and a raging thunderstorm in tow.   
He even had a helmet.  
It had wings.   
Rogers had covered the floor in two swift strides and then actually squeaked as he was engulfed in a massive hug. Tony had come close to spitting his drink out and/or letting his head get in touch with the nice, cool marble of his counter-top.   
It wasn't that he wanted to send them all packing – it was just... First a secret neo-Nazi death cult, then the fall of SHIELD, and then this. In laying down Iron Man's heavy mantle, Tony had clearly given the Universe a signal that he was all done with its insanity. But then again, when had the Universe (or whatever Supreme Being was out there) ever listened? Maybe it was Odin. If Tony shut his eyes and whined at J to mute his music, he swore he could hear the distant sound of an old man giggling. Of course, that could have been Dummy chirping anxiously at his elbow.  
Tony batted its arm away absently, mumbling, 'Jarv, what time is it?'   
'Time for you to quit hiding.'  
'...Cap.'   
Tony didn't bother looking up. Rogers was a guest in his Tower; the least his patriotic basement-dweller could do was show a little respect. And how had the man gotten in and opened the door without him noticing? Maybe Tony needed sleep and/or food more than he thought. An irritated buzz settled between his ears.   
The soldier sighed, his voice softening. 'Look, Pepper practically pulled dinner out of a hat and she really wants us all there – especially you.'   
'Yeah, no, Spangles. I'm working, if you can't figure it out.' Because you destroyed the only organization capable of letting me take a day off. He wasn't sure he should even bother keeping the vitriol out of his voice any more.   
When a warm weight descended on his shoulder, the inventor shook Steve's hand off, spitting out a curse for his interrupted work.   
'Stark.'  
'What.' Nothing could get more deadpan than Tony's voice just then.   
'Look at me. Tony, I'm worried for you. We're all worried. Even Pepper doesn't know what to do. We need you to crawl out of your inventive funk for a bit and remember what you're trying to protect.' He spoke earnestly and sincerely. The sound of it made Tony's skin crawl.  
The inventor spun his chair to Rogers with a groan and a bump. There was a snarky barb brewing somewhere in his ribcage, but he couldn't get it past his throat.   
'C'mon. It'll be just like old times. There's shwarama.' Rogers was this close to wheedling.   
Tony let out a series of mutinous mumblings.  
'And I'm fully prepared to forcibly remove you from this,' Rogers glanced at the chaos looming about him, looking for a suitable description, 'This...brightest heaven of invention.'   
His voice contained a strange mixture of sarcasm and fond exasperation that belonged, in Tony's experience, solely to the thoroughly inebriated and the utterly exhausted. Given who was standing over him, Iron Man's creator quickly ruled out one possibility, what with the super sobriety and Shakespeare references. He leaned up, taking in the Cap's anxious face, dark circles, and slumped stance. Letting out that stinging retort felt like kicking a patriotic puppy at this point, so he let the soldier pull him to his feet and lead the way from the lab. At least, that's what he told himself while his subconscious murmured mutinously of caffeine and carbs.   
'Tony! There you are.'  
The way Pepper's face lit up when she saw him was worth the all aching muscles and the disgrace of following Capsicle's orders. She smiled into his shoulder, murmuring words he couldn't hear over the story Clint was telling: something about a farm and seventeen chickens.... Thor clapped him on the shoulder while Bruce made a crack about the mad scientist crawling finally from his lair. As if Bruce could talk. Many hands guided him to a table winking and shimmering with glass and china. Tony breathed in the smell of roasted meat and rich spices, his mouth full of flavors he couldn't name. Then Steve hushed them all, breathing a quick prayer, and for a long time there was nothing but light and laughter.   
At last, chairs scraping and plates clinking, they rose and thanked Pepper with varying levels of social grace before drifting away one by one. Tony didn't miss the way Steve smiled at his teammates' retreating backs as he gathered their dishes and set about cleaning up. Honestly, he was like 200 muscly pounds of hovering mother-hen and helpful puppy. Pepper caught Tony's eye and nodded slightly. Thank you. You are dismissed – go in peace.   
Tony took her at her word – fine, subtle gesture – and made a bee-line for his work before anyone could bother him with anything else. A wary look across the common room showed him that no-one was looking this way precisely. Good. He hastened through the doorway, praying no-one would accost him. Almost there... A long shadow fell across his legs. He quickened his pace. Abort, Abort, Abort! But it was too late for that. A firm hand clapped down on his shoulder as Thor all but spun the inventor to face him.   
'Tony! Just the man I was looking for.' The alien almost bowed and regarded him hopefully. 'If you have a moment...'   
'Sure,' Tony mumbled. When do I not? It's not like I'm trying to keep the entire planet free and safe.  
Thor fumbled for a moment and then produced his helmet from somewhere, wings and all.   
'When I returned from Asgard, my father enchanted my helm to aid me in battle on Earth. He laid a spell on it to magnify all that I sense and show me the paths of battle – rather like your “HUD display.”'  
'So even crazy space dad-magician-kings copy me. Achievement unlocked!' And?  
Thor chose to ignore his verbosity and forged ahead. 'It seemed he miscalculated his magic, for the helm overwhelms all who wear it with a vastness of knowledge.'  
'...So either space-magician-dad assumed your brain was bigger than it is or he didn't calibrate his magical sensors right?'   
'Essentially,' Thor conceded after a moment. 'If you can spare the time, I would have your verdict on it.'  
And how am I supposed to do that?   
Tony groused to himself, but none-the-less, he took the proffered head-gear and headed for the lab. There was no way in Niffleheim he was letting Thor know that the Tony Stark had run up against a piece of technology that made about as much sense to him as a giant, hairy, snail. (That snail mess had been a mess. Tony actively avoided thinking about it.) Besides, when had an alien actually asked him to tinker with alien technology? He was a Stark and he knew a good opportunity when he saw one.   
. . .  
Just as it had for the last hour, Thor's helm sat dark and cold on his lab counter, where it spun when he poked it and refused to respond to any of JARVIS' diagnostics. Tony was getting a little frustrated. Most of the alien artifacts, Asgardian or otherwise, that he has studied gave off some sort of traceable radio waves or at least an energy signature. This one though – the helm seemed to gaze up at him impassively from its waiting darkness. He thought about calling Thor and telling him that there was nothing he could do in the short-term, but something stopped him.   
He was Tony Stark. He could figure this out. He could figure it all out, make it all work, just get everything right for once, so that, just maybe, nobody would die today.   
He had to – or else, or else...  
Tony let his hands fall to his sides, choking out something approximating an ironic laugh, if only for JARVIS' benefit. Who am I kidding? Even with all his networks and processors and analysis algorithms, there was no way he could see far enough, to know enough, to do enough to protect the entire world. Stark Industries may have privatized world security, he thought, but that hadn't been his choice. How long before the world or whatever Powers That Were gave them a break and let him go home?   
Maybe, though, he just needed to see a little farther – the helm felt cool and smooth under his hand. He'd survived delivering a nuke into space; he could handle this – it was a bit heavier than he expected. Just a quick glimpse should give him enough to go on – Sir! and That is not advisable! Grew soft and distant. The metal settled over his head.   
At first, there was ...well, his lab, his bots, and his half-finished creations – in other words, business as normal. But then – but then – it was like watching all of life under a microscope. He could see every pit and stain in every finger of the suit gauntlet clear on the other side of the lab. Every thread on his sleeve held a thousand filaments, so clear he could count them. The myriad bumps and ridges on the surface of his fingernails stood out in sharp contrast.   
And what he could see he could also touch, taste, hear, and smell. Black spots swam on the edges of his vision just a few moments of the overload, but as the tile rushed up to meet him, Tony made the mistake of looking out the window. He thought one room was bad – and this was like seeing everything: actual strings of data, the particles of smog in the air, every feather on every pigeon... And the sounds, the smells – he was drowning in the unbearable knowing of it all.  
His hands shook. The helm clattered to the floor, fading the world to blessed silence. The dark spots behind his eyes found each other, connecting until there was nothing left between them.  
. . .  
(Maybe he couldn't handle seeing everything, but that didn't mean he couldn't create something that could. J.A.R.V.I.S wasn't the end. He was just the beginning.)

vi.

Darcy let out a groan and pushed the hair out of her icky, sweaty face. Honestly, she could not think of a worse time to be barfing her brains out: the known world seemed to be collapsing, Jane was buried face-first in a quagmire of Science – and, oh yeah, Thor had been staying over for the last couple of weeks. Maybe, just maybe, she was exaggerating about that first one. The Apocalypse certainly wasn't breathing down her neck. Though there were more than enough mad scientists running around to concoct the appropriate virus, zombies had not yet risen up to lay waste the continent. And yet, she had never seen Jane or Eric more worried. Thor seemed sad, honestly sorrowful, in a way that was completely at odds with his strong, hope-filled self. 

And then there was the S.H.I.E.L.D debacle. HYDRA catastrophe. Whatever you wanted to call it. Darcy didn't even want to begin thinking about what that had meant, all that time ago in New Mexico. She supposed she could count it an honor to see her name appear on the neo-Nazi Death Cult's Super-Secret Kill List, but it really just freaked her out, despite what she told Jane. It just – it all just seemed so implausible: shadowy government organizations duking it out, a Helicarrier-powered plot to wipe out all opposition, a ninety-year-old unkillable assassin with a metal arm... Sometimes Darcy wondered if the world had always been this whacked and it was just that no-one normal had really noticed before. Sometimes Darcy wondered if Agent Coulson was turning in his grave. Maybe if the Zombies really did show, she'd find out. 

But in the mean time, Darcy felt like crap. She didn't get sick often, but when she did, ordinary stomach bugs transformed into viral beasts of epic proportions. The intern curled up against the freezing tile of Jane's bathroom floor and wished herself anywhere and anywhen else. She really needed to make Jane eat, but the mere thought of food made her abdomen preform double backflips, so Darcy pressed her face into her arms and tried to block out the world. Her boss had survived so far. A few more minutes lost in a Science-y wasteland wouldn't kill her. 

A quarter-hour later, the intern scraped herself off the tile and shambled into the kitchen. It was time for astrophysicist-wrangling. Her blanket scuffing on the floor, she turned toward Jane's Den of Science – and then whipped right back again to barf her insides out into Jane's trendy copper sink. Not that there was anything left in her stomach. Or that said fact stopped her body from trying to eject it repeatedly. This sucked. 

Then the hair hanging down around her face magically vanished. Her surprise manifested itself in a bleary mumble as she looked up. 

Thor. Great.

The future king of a highly advanced alien planet had to come in while she was throwing up. And now he was holding her hair back while she wretched. And gently rubbing her back. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any more embarrassing or awkward, stuff like this always had to happen. Eventually, though, her stomach did stop trying to escape through her esophagus. Small mercies. Thank heaven for those. 

'Darcy? What's happened to distress you so?' Thor rumbled, then adding, 'Is Jane alright?' 

'I'm fine, just sick. And Jane's okay, too – just really busy,' Darcy croaked. 'It's really not that big a deal. We get stomach bugs all the time.' 

'Here,' Frowning slightly, Thor fumbled with his hair until something came loose and golden strands fell messily around his face. 'This should help.'

He held up a silver hair clasp in triumph and then gathered her hair into it in one practiced motion. Darcy tried to say something snarky and ended up going with a little mumble-squeak combination. This was just all ...too much. 

'I hope I did not assume too much,' Thor added after a moment, turning on the tap and washing the mess away. 'This rarely happens to one of Aesir, unless he or she's seen something terrible.'

He handed her a glass of water. 

'I was sick after my first battle – so was Sif, for that matter.' The god's grave face split into a smile. 'But she has longer hair than you.' 

Darcy smiled in return, pulling her trusty blanket tighter. Maybe this didn't suck too bad, after all. Thor looped his arm through hers. 

'If Jane is my lady,' he observed, 'You must be my goodsister.'

'Okay,' Darcy squeaked. If her future self had appeared and told her all this would go down when she was filling out internship applications, she would have dumped Jane's in the trash right then and there. But, honestly? Darcy was kinda glad she hadn't. Besides, she now had the future king of a highly advanced alien race for a pseudo-brother-in-law. 

Thor was steering them toward the den. 'So then, little sister, shall we attempt to dislodge my lady love from her fortress of scholarship?' 

'Okay,' Darcy squeaked again. 

 

vii.

'He didn't know me. He didn't know his own name.' 

And with that, Steve's face fractured into a mosaic of grief, swiftly hidden in his hands. Bleeding cuts circled the soldier's arms. Thor didn't know what exactly had broken his Captain's composure, but it was clear that something had dredged up the ghost of this Winter Soldier. Thor took a step closer, then checked his approach. Between the burden of fighting the whole world's battles and the terrible weight of fighting his own shield-brother, Steve had been slowly collapsing for weeks, folding inward on himself. 

Ever since Fury's Shield had torn itself apart, the Avengers had acted as this realm's protectors on a scale Thor was fairly certainly no-one had envisioned. They hardly knew each other – and now... And now this ragged band of warriors was all that stood between the people of Midgard and the monsters that would destroy them. All his years of battles and grief, and Thor found that he didn't know what Steve needed – or how to help him. 

And yet, he had to do something. The Avengers were embroiled in a battle with the forces of Hydra, more legs than heads, as Clint had said – whatever that meant – but numerous in their ineptitude. Steve was crouched behind a fallen pillar, knees braced to the ground and shoulders trembling. Somewhere, the Hulk was roaring. Gunshots split the air. The Avengers needed their Captain, that much was clear – and their Captain needed strength. Thor strode forward and knelt at the man's side. 

'Steve?' he inquired, a hand hovering over his shoulder.

Eyes mired in pain and ringed in shadow, the soldier looked up him. He drew a deep breath and swallowed. 'Thor, I'm alright. It's alright. I shouldn't have said anything.' _You don't need to worry about me._

'Steve,' Thor sighed, reaching for the Captain's hands. 'What has befallen your arms?' He almost smiled.

'I … there was barbed wire,' he shrugged, the ghost of an answering smile on his face.

. . .

Steve watched, detached, as Thor took his hands and wiped away the blood with his cloak. He needed to get up, find the team, see what they needed. Mopping up what effectively amounted to a Hydra terror strike fell well within their capabilities, but apparently outside anyone else's – which gave Steve pause. At the end of the day, the Avengers could only push so far, strike so hard, and with the fall of SHIELD, they were reaching that limit. And, as Tony had said, he had personally dismantled the only organization capable of keeping the world secure. Sometimes Steve wondered – were the people of the world safer now, better off than they had been under SHIELD's watch? Had there been a better way? But then he remembered his own STRIKE team pummeling him, Natasha's terrified face, and – and Bucky's iron hand closed around his throat – 

There had been a Hydra soldier in a mask just like the one the Winter Soldier had worn, and for a moment Steve had been sure – Bucky's eyes staring at him without an ounce of recognition – that had hurt as much as the gunshots – he needed to keep it together – didn't want to get thrown over barbed wire again – too much like Bucky flinging him through the air like a rag doll – 

Steve hissed through his teeth as Thor cut his mangled sleeves away. The Asgardian wrapped his forearms in crimson fabric and then strapped his own vambraces over it in a few practiced moments. Steve started protest – Thor needed those! – but the thunder god cut over his protests.

'My father gave these to me on the eve of my first battle,' he rumbled, tracing the engravings curling around one of his vambraces. 'He put words of strength here and here –' he tapped the metal, 'and spells for courage. He told me not to trust in the strength of my arms but in the strength of fellowship and the courage of my heart.' 

Finishing, Thor took hold of his wrists and fixed him with a piercing look. 'Those runes are for you now, Steven.' 

Steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What was there to say? He suspected that Thor had said those words before to other soldiers in desperate need of strength. He hadn't realized just how thin he'd been wearing, but he couldn't help but breath easier at the vambraces' comforting weight. Steve wondered if there was really strength woven into the metal, or if it was just Thor's encouragement that made him smile. 'Thanks,' he finally rasped, because what else was there to say? 

Thor nodded and drew him swiftly to his feet. 'I fear you I and are needed elsewhere,' he observed, slinging an arm around Steve's shoulders. 'Ready for another bout?'

'Yeah.' Steve nodded, the Winter Soldier's mask fading from his mind. He would find Bucky. He would. But right now he just needed to fight through the day's mission. 'Let's go,' he added, and they set out in the general direction of their teammates. 

Just before they rounded a corner and entered the fray, Steve heard Thor's voice beside him. 'We will help you find your shield-brother, I promise. Our strength is for you.' 

 

viii.

'You know, there is nothing as tempting as a locked door.'

That one had gotten a laugh from Thor, and a heavy arm slung round his shoulders while golden hair tickled his face. Father had even chuckled, once. Now only the silence answered him, breaking like calm water and then quieting as if no-one had ever been there. The jest was foolishness, Loki knew. He wore the face of Asgard's King; no door was truly locked to him. And there was always silence now, when Odin departed from his people. He had no wife, no sons, no-one left to him; the golden halls stood empty where once they walked. Loki had almost pitied the man – almost, when he tumbled down into the Odinsleep, a look of grief etched on his weathered face. Almost. 

__

I am King now. 

King of Asgard, ruler of the Realm Eternal, commander of vast armies, lord of suns and stars and galaxies. King you are and King you will be, the Other had said. But when he turned to make a jest, only silence answered and he could not sleep. Not this night, and not for many nights past. He would jerk awake, gasping in the still night air with Thor's voice ringing in his ears or toss and turn until the dawn light washed over him. Loki was exhausted. Not that he looked it, under his glamors and spells. But when the night came and he drained the magic from his face, looking into the mirror was like staring at a ghost. Shadows like bruises ringed his eyes. 

Loki was never honest with himself, as a rule. But if he were to speak the truth to this empty room... The crown was killing him, piece by piece. Or maybe it was all the souls he had trodden to ascend the golden throne. Thor's face swam behind his eyes, broken with grief, shattered like a storm. He should've spit out some clever, cruel jest in those last moments on Svartalfheim. Maybe now it would hurt less to see his not-brother struggling rudderless across Midgard. But instead he had wept and babbled and pleaded like a fool, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ , because he could not say _Forgive me for gutting your heart once and forever._ Any cruel, amusing lie would have been better than the almost-sincerity of his last words. Loki was well and truly ruined when he stepped outside his cocoon of sharp jests and cutting laughter. Jests...

He was vaguely shocked his golden, idiot, glorious, heartbreaking not-quite-brother had locked the door to his bedchamber in the first place. A fine sheet of dust dancing under his footsteps, Loki shook his head. When had there ever been dust on this floor? 

They were children again and Thor had chased him through the sun-dappled trees and the simmering streets and the whispering halls. Loki had torn around the doorway to his brother's room, stuck out a bony foot, and sent him sprawling to the shining floor. Thor laughed like a hurricane as Loki flopped on the mess of his bed and squinted at the sun. A summer wind whistled through the windows like a piper's reel. 

They were children again and Loki went sneaking and sliding down the hall to his brother's door and pushed on the beams with all his might. His blanket trailed on the floor.

'Thor?'

'Hnrrgg?'  
'The monsters aren't really real, are they?'

'Loki, how should I know?'

'You said you knew where hiccups come from.'

'Well hiccups aren't monsters. And if they are real, they're certainly not stuffed under your bed.'

'You don't know that.'

His brother sighed and rolled over at this point. A bolt of terror struck Loki. 

'Thor,' he hissed desperately, 'Thor, you can't go back to sleep!' 

Thor laughed a little and scooted over.

''M not. Come here.'

Loki scrambled eagerly into his brother's nest of blankets and furs, cracking a satisfied smile when Thor's arm looped around him. Golden hair brushed over his eyes as an indistinct rumble of _G'night_ reached his ears. 

There had been no more monsters that night. 

Never once in his life had Loki seen Thor make his bed, but now the furs were folded neatly under their own blanket of dust as dustmotes whirled in the starlight. _No-one's here to sleep._ Something in Loki wanted to sob, to curl in on himself and gasp and retch and rasp until his heart lay stewing at his feet. But he was so tired – and his tears had all frozen in the icy nothing between worlds, or maybe he had always been frozen on the inside. He was so cold. 

Thor's leather mantle lay sprawled on a carven chest, the only thing out of place in the room. Squashing down the _Don't be a child!_ and the _He's not your brother,_ Loki grabbed the thing curled its heavy folds around himself, smelling leather and rain and woodsmoke. The trickster god was past caring. Exhaustion gnawed at him like a living thing and Thor meant blood and thunder and heartbreak and rough embraces and rest. Loki let himself tip forward onto his brother's bed. He wrapped the mantle around his narrow shoulders and crawled beneath the dusty furs, warmth finally settling into his aching bones. _Pathetic. You won't leave his shadow._ But living in Thor's shadow was warm and safe, he thought, eyes closed and mind hushed like a stormy sea suddenly calmed. There were good dreams, too, safeguarded memories.

. . .

Loki was tiny in Thor's shadow, and Thor, not very big himself, was in a hurry. A hand wrapped firmly around his brother's pale fingers, the boy trotted down the hall toward the great outdoors. 

'Too fast,' Loki complained, 'Too fast, Thor.' 

His brother slowed, frowning. 'Keep up, Loki.'

Loki shrugged. 'Too fast,' he offered again. 

Thor huffed in irritation, but Loki wasn't worried. Thor had waited for him, and that was all that mattered. They reached the courtyard at last, the sunlight bursting in upon them. It filled up the walled court like water in a glass. Thor gently detached his hand from Loki's and ran to meet Sif, who hurried toward him, smiling.

'Thor! Thor,' she called, 'I beat Theoric fair and square.' Her smile was blinding. Thor grinned back. 'You knocked him down! I knew you could!' 

She laughed and he laughed with her, grabbing her hands and spinning them in a circle. A summer wind was singing round them, chasing between the garden trees. And Thor was dizzy, just a bit, so he sat down against the warm stone, under the shadow of many trees. Loki slipped under his arm and leaned his head on Thor's shoulder. Thor almost pushed his brother off with a grunt and a frown, as he had so often, but something stayed his hands. The dark sheet of Sif's hair disappeared around an archway and silence fell on them. Loki hummed quietly, a wild tune in his ears. And the summer wind whistled through the windows like a piper's reel. 

. . .

Thor woke with tears on his face and an ache in his heart. He had so hated silence, but now it filled up the gaps in his life as sunlight had once. Jane was still sleeping, chestnut hair spilled over her milky face. Rain broke like a wave across the window, casting the apartment into a slate-colored twilight. It was not dawn yet. Once a brother, always a brother, Volstagg had told him in a moment of wisdom. And, indeed, a part of Thor would be missing until the day he died. He lay down again, a green-eyed boy smiling in his memory.

'Thor,' Loki had said, 'Thor, you waited.' 

But all he could hear was, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically just my excuse to write Phase II fall out and speculation all wrapped up in a pretty package of Thor-centric character interaction. I intended this to be AoU compliant, but I have not yet seen the film.


End file.
